Of course, Jack’s two good legs weren’t going to be much help if they spun out and landed in a snowdrift in the middle of nowhere, but that wasn’t the point. Morgan had been trying to be tricky about this, but that wasn’t working, so he tried the truth.
“Look. Your boots are nearly worn through. You need your own coat and gloves and hat. Scarf. More socks. Underwear.” He made as though he were more irritated about that than he was. “Also, I don’t want to hear any more about it from Mabel.” He pursed his lips as Mabel tended to do and affected a high voice. “You let that boy run around with holes in his boots? Howcouldyou?”
That made Jack laugh and relax. “I’m used to doing without.”
“You don’t have to, and you shouldn’t,” Morgan said. “Not on my watch.”
Somehow, Jack had managed long trips exposed to the weather on whatever train he’d managed to hitch a ride on. But that didn’t matter. It wasn’t right that Jack should continue to live like he was hanging on to the rusty rung of a ladder whose stability had every right to be questioned, while the train rattled and bumped and tried to throw him off.
He deserved better.
“You’re working for me,” Morgan said firmly. “So consider the clothes a uniform. When you leave, if you leave—” He paused to settle his thoughts about that not-too-far-off day. “You can take whatever you want with you and leave the rest behind. But for now, you wear the uniform I’m going to provide you with. Understood?”
“Yes, boss,” Jack said with a mock salute.
While Jack dug out the truck—using the scraper with his bare hands, for Pete’s sake—Morgan made coffee and filled a thermos he’d found. He thought about packing some snacks, but Billingswas only an hour away. They’d shop, have lunch there, and be back by mid-afternoon.
The sky was bright blue as they set out, the horizon a veil of crystal-flecked light. They stopped on the way out of town so Jack could top off the tank at the town’s only gas station, and then they headed down Highway 311 to the I-94 intersection.
A few cars were on the highway, with most of the traffic in the right lane. Though the whole of the highway had been plowed, only the right lane in each direction was mostly free of snow.
Jack drove a bit fast for Morgan’s taste, but he went steadily and was focused on the road, so after ten minutes of worrying, Morgan settled in. Even fell asleep for a bit, waking only when he sensed Jack moving his body, the truck slowing.
Jack was reaching for the thermos at Morgan’s feet, so, waving Jack off, Morgan unscrewed the lid, filled it with coffee, and handed it over.
As he drank, Jack’s eyes stayed on the road, which glistened in the sun. When Jack was finished, Morgan polished off what remained of the coffee.
He screwed the lid back on and asked, “So, did you know Blue and Star before you rode the trains with them?”
Sparing him a glance, Jack shook his head. “You tell me more about Bradley first. Then I’ll tell you about them.”
They had time, and Morgan didn’t want to argue, so he outlined the accident and Bradley’s reaction to it.
He explained how Bradley didn’t want to be around someone who couldn’t do for themselves. How he’d treated Morgan like a child when Morgan had come home from the hospital, until one day, he simply stopped caring at all. How he’d left Morgan with the rent due and two months left on the lease on their apartment.
He took a breath and was about to explain that maybe he and Bradley had been growing apart anyway, when Jack snorted.
“What an asshole.”
“Excuse me?”
“Not you, him.” Jack shook his head, slowing down for the exit they wanted, mile marker 452. “Only an asshole would cut and run when things got tough.”
He smiled to himself as he took the winding exit into the small city and followed the phone’s directions along low sandstone cliffs.
“Not that I’d know. I never really dated anyone. Just took some girls out for a bite to eat.” He glanced at Morgan. “Mostly to make my dad happy. Not that it helped.”
They arrived at the center of Billings, its wide streets and bare trees a contrast to the expansive sky above, blue with streaks of white. When Jack parked in the library’s near-empty parking lot, Morgan gathered up the book, but Jack took it from his hands.
“I’ll do it,” he said, then jumped out and trotted up the salt-coated marble steps. Morgan watched him go, lithe and, yes, nimble.
He didn’t have to wait long until Jack opened the door again, white clouds of frozen breath expanding around his head. He brought cold air with him as he got back into the truck.
“They were real sorry to hear about Oralee,” Jack said. “She was a regular. Twice a month, usually. And they waived the late fee.”
“That was nice of them,” Morgan said.
Waiving the fee was such a small-town thing to do, considerate and helpful. But he was more interested in hearing the rest of Jack’s story. Like where had he taken those Bryn Mawr girls.
